For AXM Magazine, November 2005 My yoga practice is getting out of hand. I spend two hours a day chanting and jumping and folding and releasing. I’m so evolved that it’s making me nervous, because for every minute I’m bending, I’m letting go of something else. I’ve given up booze and caffeine, and I’m working […]

I was always funny, which is why my brother beat me up so often. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, the jokes just kept rolling, and this only made him angrier. For every laugh I got at his expense, I also got a punch. But I couldn’t stop. He had a speech impediment, a tiny cleft palate. All his vowels were pronounced to sound like “u’s”. “Don’t” was “dun’t”. “Can’t” was…well, you get the picture. He wasn’t dumb, not by any means. In fact, he was quite good with numbers, which sounds patronizing and is meant to. He was big and strong and scary and he had a large nose and he talked funny, so he was a gold mine of material to a skinny, frail, slightly cruel nerd like me.
…

The reason I have sex in the third-floor men’s room at Liberty, the idiosyncratic department store at the top of Carnaby Street, is because I’m a giver. There, dick in hand, near the carpet section, is where I met my soldier, a Nigerian serving in the British army that shows up every so often, when he’s on leave, and fucks me in a toilet stall to remind me that I’m a lady, and more importantly, that he’s a man. I like returning his sexuality to him. He’s closeted, he has no friends really, and the only chance he gets to be passionate is when he’s bending a wet white guy over porcelain, an intermittent spritz of Evergreen room freshener wafting his way. His big hands make me more limber, and my sinewy spine makes him harder.

…

https://scottcapurro.com/give-it-back/